When I went to the Hemmingway Farm that sunlit day,
Amidst an ocean of brownish stalks of corn,
I remembered the plight of peasants in my native land.

One day, they came to the city of power
Where the mighty are sheltered in splendor;
Throngs of humanity in the sun,
Chanting the voices of the soil to the palace,
Singing the song of hope so long unheard.

Give us a piece of land to till,
Give us a piece of land to plant:
A grain of corn and a grain of rice
That we may harvest a grain of dreams.

But lo! A valley of shots thundered
Orchestrated symphony of the elite's gun,
Angered by the voices of the earth
Singing a song of hope long dead
Disturbing a tranquil slumber.

Before the day was over, the street was littered
With body of the dead whose only crime
Is to dream for a little share of God's wealth,
Possessed by the wanton avarice of few.

When I left the Hemming way Farm as sunset loomed,
I saw the fleeting shadows of peasants in my native land.
Singing a song of hope for grain and dreams
Amidst the brownish stalks of the unharvest corn
In my native land.

Iowa City
15 September 1987

To
print or copy, highlight the selection and
right-click using your mouse.

Everyone is
free to copy and print from this site provided
that the original works of the Filipino authors
remain unharmed...